Hide and Seek

[disappearingcheshire]

one shot/2015

gift fic for Des

author: Gallo
genre: occult verse, urban fantasy
rating: T
characters: Julian da Silva, Pigman, Adam Price

Pigman belongs to desperish and is, in fact, one of the coolest characters ever. (seriously.)



At thirty-six, Adam Price no longer believed in devils.



It began as an itch beneath his collar and a murmur inside his veins.
 
Detective Adam Price faltered in his stride across the busy sidewalk, gaze sweeping over the noontime crowds.
 
Office workers milled, styrofoam boxes tucked under their arms and phones tucked under their ears, while shoppers hauled colorful bags to food stands and taxis sped by.
 
The detective resumed his pace, unsure of where the source of his tension had stemmed. His jacket was rumpled, his sleeves rolled over forearms, and his tie was long discarded, lost to the same sleepless hours that left behind the puple-blue bruises beneath his eyes.
 
Overhead, glass buildings pierced through the sky, casting their roots into shadows, and created a hive of activity as merchants and pedestrians warred for space amid the avenue.
 
Adam wove his way through the milling city-goers, his mind in and out, until he reached the congested ledge of a crosswalk. The signal turned orange, stopping foot traffic, and Adam began to root around in his pocket for a smoke, suddenly jittery.
 
A lurch of pulse, faint and sudden.
Tell tale apprehension.
 
His shoulders tensed, white noise filling his ears, and his hands paused midway to his mouth, lighter flipped open but cold, cigarette dangling precariously between his lips.
 
It was there in the corner of his gaze, a dark blur with teeth, waiting to be discovered.
 
His hairline grew damp, the first bead of sweat sliding down the back of his neck.
 
Thick musk, old and bestial. A bitter tang.
 
His surroundings fell away, his attention honing solely onto the murky threat suddenly at his side.
 
(Blood, experience supplies, the air smells like blood.)
 
For once, fight or flight failed him, his muscles frozen despite the training still embedded in them; the lessons the military had drummed into him and that war had made permanent, all forgotten.
 
It was there, lurking just beyond his peripheral, a fragment yet but still overwhelming, so that even standing in the open, he felt claustrophobic. Cornered.
 
He swallowed, coiled tight from the balls of his feet to the chords of his throat, and thought briefly of reaching for his gun, even as he knew somehow that it wouldn't matter (that he couldn't get there fast enough even if it did).
 
On his tongue, the brackish proof of fear, and in his sinuses, the dry dust of bristled mane.
 
Don't move, don't trigger.
 
He cut his vision towards it, unwilling to look fully, aware that an awful truth sat just out of sight, waiting for him to step towards it and let it in.
 
Wet, rough snort. Hot air grazing his cheek.
 
Adam turned his face before his brain could process what his body was doing.
 
The cigarette tumbled from his lips.
 
Nothing.
 
Adam blinked, dark gaze jumping from figure to figure beside him.
 
Pedestrians rowing back and forth like busy fish.
The chatter of conversation.
 
Around him the city continued its bustle, unchanged and impatient.
 
He exhaled heavily, suddenly aware that he had been holding his breath, and scrubbed a heavy hand down his face. In his ears, his blood rushed frantically.
 
“Jesus.”
 
Maybe his coworkers were right. Maybe he did need some rest.
 
Jarred by the hasty bump of a passing stranger, Adam snorted, crouching to retrieve his unsmoked causality still lulling in the gutter.
 
Muttering unfavorably, thumb sparking lighter onto the tip of cigarette, he took a calming drag as he straightened-
 
Drool-slick jaw and teeth gnashed over a cracked snout. Saliva threads - a devil's grin.
Coarse, audible grinding.
 
Adam lurched back, shout caught in his throat, and stumbled from the curb into the cross walk, a cab slamming on its horn even as the detective felt his stomach lurch into his diaphragm.
 
Shiny pig-nose, nostrils flared around a golden hoop; sniffing, snorting.
Dead, hellfire eyes.
Sour rot.
 
Hands caught his shoulders, stopping his fall, even as he tore away from the touch, reaching automatically for his gun holster. Dilated gaze swung back to the sidewalk, and the empty space where before had stood a nightmare.
 
Nothing.
 
Pedestrians rowing back and forth.
 
A voice called, dragging his attention to the road, and the man he had all but bowled over in his fit.
 
As his dazed brain processed what he was seeing, a hysterical laugh bubbled up.
 
A priest?
 
Adam turned back to the curb, neck still prickling, pulse still hard.
 
Nothing.
 
“Careful.” The voice was closer now, accompanied by a heavy hand dropped onto his shoulder. Adam started, jerking his face towards the unwelcome stranger suddenly at his side.
 
He was a tall man, looming over most of the crowd. Despite the almost boyish curl of his hair over brow, the smile he received from the priest was slow and sharp, echoing unkindly in black eyes.
 
“You might hurt yourself.”
 
Jerking away, Adam made it half way down the block before slowing his stride, hands fumbling for a cigarette.
 
He didn't look back.
 
–––
 
 
Julian chuckled, watching the haggard form disappear around a corner, and reached down to retrieve the dwindling cigarette that had been dropped in the rush. Bringing it to his lips, he drew in deep, enjoying the stolen burn.
 
After a few languid puffs, the priest flicked his attention to the silent figure beside him. “You're welcome.”
 
The annoyed glance thrown his way made his teeth flash, amusement bunching the thick scar of his glasglow.
 
“He seemed a bit trigger happy.” Julian mused, tossing away the butt of used filter.
 
Pig's snort was decidedly human in reply, a derisive gust volunteered through his nose.
 
Lips twitching, the inquisitor took catalog of his profile, admiring the sharp angles and blue veins that made up the face his colleague had been known to wear from time to time.
 
Another heartbeat of silence passed between them, filled only with the rumble of background traffic and the acrid lingerings of fear.

Julian leered, delighted by the way Pig's jaw tightened in automatic ire without even needing to look at him, “You can make it up to me later.”
 
The scoff as Pig stalked away, unwilling to dignify him with a reply, pulled forth his own laughter, a bark of amusement as he followed shortly behind, their figures cutting hazy shape along the sidewalk, until at last they turned, stepping off the curb, and disappeared entirely.
 
–––
 
 
“The devil hides in corners,” his grandmother had often warned.
 
She would then promptly cross herself, weathered hands dipping from brow to chest, and bring the small medallion around her neck up for a kiss.
 
It was the same one Adam held now, sitting on the floor of his darkened living room, whiskey heavy on his breath and stubble faint on his chin.
 
Vade retro satana, the inscription implored.
 
Protect us from Evil.
 
He rubbed his thumb over it, over the sightless visage of Saint Benedict embossed just beneath the words, and brought the rim of bottle back up to his lips.
 
At thirty-six, Adam Price no longer believed in devils.
 
Thick musk, old and bestial.
 
He swallowed.
 
Dead, hellfire eyes.
 
The medal settled against his chest, warm and light.